Meet Me as a Citizen
by OnWithTheButter
Summary: One thing they all have in common is the fact that they are nations and are expected to behave as such. But in daily life, among humans, are they still the same? – collection of shorts, each chapter dedicated to a different nation
1. England and the American Tourist

England sighed as he walked out into the streets of Brussels. Yet another world conference, yet another set of hassles with those imbeciles.

America seemed to be on even more of a sugar high — one might guess that the host country, Belgium, had given him far more than his share of chocolate and other assorted sweets — and he hadn't stopped talking long enough for anyone else to get in three words. England smirked a little remembering how he had eventually sat down on that git and threatened him with duct tape. Such a useful invention, yes?

France had commented in private that he would hit on Belgium if she weren't his half-sister, but of course, he had his dignity. Rubbish, the British nation thought. He just didn't want to look bad. The frog also started a discussion on how quality wine would make all the economic problems better, or at least make them seem that way, or perhaps striking more frequently would save money. What a useless waste of space that Frenchman was.

Germany seemed a bit run down today and hadn't kept the meeting to the normal level of civility that he usually did. If such things weren't monitored by the governments, he probably would have walked out of the whole bloody affair. Not a bad idea at all.

Oh, England could have gone on and on in his mind over the whole blasted formality these meetings were. But now he had left, out on the streets of a nice city with a fair amount of time before he had to be at the airport. For now, he didn't have to be the United Kingdom or England, he could just be Arthur. Arthur Kirkland, a fine young man if he could say so himself, both good-looking and good-mannered. He relished these moments. Ducking into a small shop, he asked to use the washroom, and replaced that stuffy jacket and tie with a simple sweater vest. If only he could stash that briefcase… Oh well, it wasn't too much of a trouble to carry it, it was light and the only luggage he had brought anyhow.

He began to wander around the streets. Over time, he had become familiar enough with the city to know where he was without much hassle. And certainly enough to help a poor lost soul.

"Hello!" a young man called out to him just as that thought went through his mind. "Do you know, sir, how to find the art museum?"

Ah, an American, given away by his slightly-there Southern drawl. But in looks, he was nothing like the American Arthur was used to dealing with. In fact, he looked sort of similar to an even more troublesome character he was well acquainted with: Australia. "Yes, I do happen to know. I can take you, I haven't got much else to do." Such a different reaction than he would have to many of the acquaintances he had asking him something of the sort.

"Thank you, sir! You're so kind, are you sure you can really take me?"

"Quite of course, lad. Now come along."

Not long into the walk, the young man took a few extra steps to catch up with his make-shirt guide. "I'm supposed to meet a girl there, we met online last year. I'm so excited! Name's Cody, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cody. I'm Arthur." He stopped to give him a firm handshake with a cordial smile.

"Arthur, huh? I haven't ever met an Arthur in real life before. I kinda thought it was an old-fashioned name."

The Englishman allowed himself a small chuckle. "Mustn't live in a very big world then? I've met too many Arthurs to count." Of course, he wouldn't get that this man had lived over a thousand years, plenty of time to meet 'Arthurs'.

"I must admit, I thought you were a local until I heard your accent. You seem like you know your way around so well! Did you move here or something?"

"No, actually I live in London. My work requires me to travel a lot, so I find it useful to memorize my way around certain towns."

"That must be so cool! I've only been to Canada before I came here. What kind of work do you do?"

"Well…" England would have blown a fuse at such a question, probably screaming that it was none of a stranger's business, but Arthur decided not to. Besides, this was a very nice young man, he could at least be civil with him. "I'm a sort of diplomat."

"Awesome! So do you get to see the queen a lot?"

"I can't say that I've never worked with Her Majesty before, but I don't quite spend time with her. I work closer with the prime minister, and even more so with representatives from other countries."

"Aw man, I think if all the diplomats were as nice as you, we'd have world peace."

_You have no idea, lad…_

"Hey! There's the museum now! And there's my girlfriend! Thanks, Arthur! Have a good day!" And then, the young American named Cody disappeared back into the world.

England stood watching the people for a few more minutes. Such fascinating creatures they were…

And just then, a blonde woman popped up from behind him. "'Ey, England~!" she sang. "Whatcha doing?"

That snapped him out of his daze. "Gah, Belgium! Leave me alone, you numb-skulled ninny! I have a plane to catch." WIth that, Arthur was gone too, back into hiding as the body was returned to the nation of England, no longer pretending just to be an ordinary man. He took off in a fast walk away from his fellow nation, leaving her standing there to gape at his sudden personality swap.

"Hey! Wait!"


	2. Russia and the Child in the Street

Some days, he was Russia, a large, cold country. They were terrified of him, they hated him, they talked about him behind his back, and he knew it. He tried to push out the loneliness, the sadness, the despair. "It's alright," he'd reassure himself, "one day, it'll all be better." In truth, he was what one would call a simpleton, and a childish one at that, but he wasn't stupid. His mind worked like a mousetrap, just not like everyone else's.

He never had the chance to learn like others. He had been isolated, with only his sisters, and his youth had been tumultuous. They lived to survive, civility and sociality were never as important. As a young man, he had tried to learn to fit in, only to fall on his face over and again. Now, everyone remembered only his mistakes, his short comings, his bad moments.

Most days, he was Ivan though, at least right now. After losing everyone, he had almost no choice but to live as a human, and it was comfortable. As Ivan, no one looked to him as a monster who caused so much grief for those he cared about, no one called him 'the commie', no one related him to his history. He was the young man down the street, across the block, the one they liked for his cheery and open demeanor. Little did they know it was really a mask that he had worn for so long, on the good days, he could barely remember he wasn't the goofy kid. Of course, no one liked Russia, everyone loved Vanya.

He had been to China's house, trying to get him to talk to him, only to be threatened by South Korea for a reason he couldn't understand. Why was that little boy there anyway? What reason did he have for being at China's house, and why didn't he want him there? The Korean hated him and he didn't know why, yet was afraid of him, just like everyone else. Russia was just trying to look in the window to see if anyone was home…and that boy shrieked at him, shakily keeping his distance, and had run when he was finished screaming. His feelings hurt, Russia had left too, maybe he just was unwanted…everywhere. They probably all went to bed every night praying that he would just…disappear, didn't they? It wasn't his fault, right? Why did no one like him?

The rejection didn't leave him, and he walked back through the streets of his city kicking pebbles in his loneliness. He didn't want to go back home now. At home, he had nothing. There was no one there anymore to tell him it would all be okay, or just to reassure him with their presence. The emptiness of that house only reminded him that they never loved him, they left as soon as they could. No, he'd just have to wander the streets, because out here, he was just another person, part of a crowd, not alone. Maybe no one out here knew him, but just their presence would be enough.

Children, playing in a side street. They were having fun, even with the wind blowing, an ominous sign of a fast approaching winter. They always made him smile. Such innocent faces, unaware of the world's true colors yet. He stopped to watch the three young ones for a little while.

Something dropped with a crash, the smallest of the children let out a scream, half a cry, as the other two took off in a run. The little one collapsed to the street in a sort of tantrum, crying over a broken toy. As he was completely wrapped in his fit, he didn't notice Ivan inching closer. The tall man knelt down beside the child, picking up the toy fragments. A nesting doll, and a very elegant one at that.

"What happened, child?"

The boy was slightly startled, jumping a little at the sudden voice. "Um… It fell. And broke." He picked up some other fragments of the doll.

"Where did the other children go?"

The boy, maybe nine years old, if that, traced patterns in the sand, face dropped. "They ran away… Some times I get mad, and I hit them before. They didn't want to be hit. But it was my fault the doll broke, I dropped it."

"They're afraid of you, yes?" The man reached out, resting his hand comfortingly on the small shoulder.

"Yes… I don't mean to do bad things…"

"I know what you mean." He smiled sadly, ruffling the ash brown hair a little. "I'm Vanya, what's your name?"

"Anatoliy," he said as he looked up at the stranger for the first time.

Ivan turned his attention back to the broken doll. "It was a fine one, wasn't it?"

"It was my grandmother's. I can't believe I let it die like that."

"Hey… I'll get you a new one, okay? Would you meet me back here in three days?"

"Uh… Mother says we shouldn't meet with strangers…" The boy stood up, backing away a little upon realizing his words.

"Now, now, I'm no stranger. I'm only a friend you've just met. I won't hurt you, Tolya."

"O…kay." The child returned the rest of the broken pieces to the man's large hand, quickly wrapping his arms around his legs, before running away.

* * *

Exactly three days later, to the hour and minute of their last meeting, two Russians, one young and small, the other large and infinitely aged, met on that side street. Ivan came with a box far too large to hold a normal matryoshka, handing it to the nervous child. As he opened it, he found three sets of dolls, brilliantly painted and intricately detailed.

"For you, and for your two friends," Ivan explained. "Enjoy them, live a happy life, and never be afraid, Tolya." Kneeling down, he tightly hugged the child, his child, tears softly running down his cheeks. "You'll make me proud, yes?


End file.
